






^^^^■i! 



AT MISS PENHALLOW'S 



BOARDING HOUSE SCENES 



-A,^ 



BY 



HANNAH LINCOLN TALBOT, 



PORTLAND : 

MARKS PRINTING HOUSE. 

1904. 



HE tl««^RV OF 
CX?NQ«eSS. 
One Coi»v K^SEivw 

OCT. 10 '^(H 

A««/y XXa. N». 



11 



At Miss penhallows. 



SCENE I. — DiTsriNG Room. 

SCENE IL— A Gamk or Cards. 

SCENE TIL— At the Tea Table. 
Miss Penhallow, . . . . . Landlady. 

Miss Condor, . . Who has not always boarded. 

Miss Poor, .... Addicted to wrappers. 

Miss Stearns, Averse to men, especially as fello^ boarders. 

Miss Minns, .... A gentle Quaker. 

Mrs. Gaylor, .... A grass widow. 

Miss Grew, . . , A young business woman. 

^^«^^^^' • • • ■ Of independent spirit. 

^•^*^^' • • Who sometimes pleases the boarders. 

Mr. Sampson, ... a recent boarder. 

Claude Eugene Gaylor, . . An only child. 

Copyrighted and aU rights reserved 
By H. L. Talbot. 

A DINING ROOM. 

Fireplace back. Clock on mantel-piece. Cook in kitchen 
adjoimng. Lorilla setting table. 

Miss Penhallow {enters L. with bonnet and dolman on.) 
Leave this door open to get all the warmth from the kitchen 
{she puts fruit from her bag on table), but don't fail to shut it 
before they come down or they'll complain of the smell of cook- 
ing. {To herself) I'll remove the thermometer or they'll see 
that it is barely 62. But I can't start up the furnace yet a while ; 
only two barrels of coal in my bin, and prices going up by jumps 
every minute. {Aloud.) I hope you put that room in perfect 
order, the lady and her dear little boy are coming this afternoon 



2 

Lorilla, after passing the celery once, owce, you understand, take 
it into the kitchen. I want it for salad. There's plenty of cold 
veal for a nice chicken salad. Draw up the chairs and put a 
match to the fire just as they come in. I don't want a roaring 
fire, but just a pretty little blaze. They'll all want to sit on this 
side, with their backs to the open lire. Don't forget to strike the 
little gong, a bell is so vulgar, so like a cheap boarding-house. 
Leave the kitchen door open till the very last minute. {She 
withdraws li.) 

Lorilla (busy about table.) Yes'm, yes'm, yes'm {bowing 
loiv) of course they'll all have to set back to the fire. My! 
Don't I know 'em. {Glancing at fire.) Mighty little heat they'll 
git from the green wood she's put together there. Mary Ellen 
O'Shay, hustle up dinner spry, I want to git out in some season 
this afternoon. I've set the clock twenty minutes ahead, but a 
lot of good that'll do me. Miss Condor, the genteel, who keeps 
dinging it into us how elegant she was bi'ought up under her 
father's roof, won't never step foot into this I'oom till her old 
reliable watch and chain says half past. There ! I guess the 
table's set enough to begin with. Oh napkins — everlasting 
botheration, no use but to make work. I never meddle with 
none, and I mistrust I'll live just as long. ( Wijyes her mouth 
with the bach of her hand and smiles?) Every boarder so awfid 
particular to git their own. You'd think other folks was pizen 
sure. This one pins down her corner so — ^that's Condor's dodge. 
{Pricks herself and claps finger in mouth.) Sho ! Don't I just 
wish she'd forgit that pin once and scratch herself good. This 
one folded criss-cross is Miss Grew, and my ! don't she fuss if 
she don't git it. Bein' Saturday she eats down town ; it'll do just 
as good for Miss Minns. She's awful neat. A hundred years 
and who'll know the dif ? Now start up that fire, that ain't 
goin' to do no more than a good smart match. Now chairs. I 
say out there, dish up everything, I'm all O. K. in my shop. 
There, I've just got time to call up Nell over the 'phone. ( Goes to 
telephone at side of stage.) Hello ! gimme double one, two one, 
ring two. Say, Nell, 's that you? {Giggle.) Well, I guess nit. 
No, they ain't begun yet. Three courses, but I'll hustle 'em good. 
( Giggle.) Say, Nell, meet me where you said. I guess it'll be 



quarter to. Yes, I've got to change ; you don't s'pose I'm 
switchin' it round the kitchen — not if I know it ! But ray hair's 
bang up and my pompadour — oh, my ! {Pats her hair.) Oh, 
shut up ! Say, you don't s'pose I care if he is. I sha'n't do noth- 
ing of the kind, so there ! Say, Nell, just state to him for me 
that — 

Cook {poking in head.) I thought you was after bein' in a 
rush. Things is all dished up and gettin' stone cold whilst 
you're cackling away no sinse at all, as I can make out. 

LoR. Well, goo' by. {Seizes dinner hell and rings violently.) 

Cook {again ajypearing, with tureen of soup.) Didn't she be 
saying as you was to hit that ere little brass drum-looking thing 'i 

LoR. ( Cook takes piece of celery.) This'll make 'em all so 
mad they'll come down spryer. 

Enter 3Iiss Penhallow. 

Miss Pen. Oh, that vulgar bell ! ( Takes bell.) How often 
must I request you to use that little gong the ladies gave me 
Christmas. {She gives the fire a poke.) Don't forget what I 
said about the celery, once only, and then take it into the kitchen. 
{Enter Miss Poor, icho goes to the thermometer and then to the 
fire.) Shut that door, Lorilla. It is a rule of my house that that 
door is never to stand open ; it lets in all the odors of cooking. 

LoR. {aside while banging the door.) She didn't mind smells 
none when she wanted the heat of the cook stove. 

Enter Miss Stearns, who goes to the fire and then to 
the thermometer. 

Miss Stearns. Oh, the thermometer's gone! 
Miss Pen. {sits dovm.) Ladies, I do hope you will find the 
room warm enough. I had Lorilla make an extra big open fire. 
Miss Poor. Perhaps it will improve ; it's very cold now. 
Miss Stearns. It seems just like a cellar. 

They stand by the fire and shiver. 

Miss Pen. The furnace people assure me they will make my 
repairs at once. They have been too provoking. 

LoR. {aside.) There aint nothing ails the furnace, but no coal 
to go into it ! 



Miss Stearns sits at end of table, Miss Poor in middle 
seat at side. 

Miss Poor {pouring out her medicine.) It does seem very- 
chilly. But I kept on my tea gown purposely. I had wadding 
laid across the shoulders when I had it made over the last time 
but one, and with my shawl I hope I sha'n't get cold. ( She 
turns totoardfire.) Lorilla, is that fire doing as much as it ought 
to? 

Lor. Well, it ain't beyond all control. We needn't git in the 
chemical yet awhile. {She passes bread.) 

Miss Poor. Well, it's a comfort that, as we are all ladies here, 
we can do exactly as we please and keep on our tea gowns all day 
if we happen to own pretty and becoming ones. 

Miss Penhallow gives soup to Miss Stearns. 

Miss Stearns. I should say so. Men in a boarding-house 
are never anything but a nuisance. There are never more than 
three or four of 'em at the most, and they add nothing to any- 
body's pleasure. They never open their mouths but to take in 
their food, they never are ready to stay in and join in the social 
games in the evening — I'Ve often asked them — and they keep you 
awake half the night stumbling up the front stairs. Then some 
of the women always act so silly, when even the most insignificant 
specimen of a man comes in sight. For my part, I'm thankful 
you won't let any of 'em into this house. Miss Penhallow. 

LoR. {aside.) I guess they wouldn't stop long if they was paid 
high by the hour. 

Miss Pen. Well, I can't exactly say that I never will allow 
gentlemen to come to my house, — if they were gentlemen and 
brought proper references and were willing to conform in every- 
thing, — but I own that I much prefer lady boarders. They are 
so much more sociable around the house and they don't set fires 
with cigar ashes. 

Miss Poor. Lorilla, you've given me the wrong napkin. I 
made a crease in mine. No, thank you, no clam soup for me. 
I can't digest it. 

Jliss Stearns examines oion napkin critically. 



Miss Pen. Oh, that's too bad! I was under the impression 
that clam soup was the one thing that all my ladies relished 
Lorilla, the left side. Step more softly. There is no hurry. 

Lor (aside.) Oh, ain't there? 

Miss Poor. I often wonder where the men keep themselves 
nowadays. Of course you see plenty of them on teams and in 
ditches and such places, but I mean of our class. I rarely meet 
one when I am invited out, and where I worship I see but very 
few. Of course they can't get into any of the ladies' clubs where 
nowadays there is so much literary activity. Really it seems to 
me there are very few amusements left open to the Stroudport 
gentlemen. 

Miss Stearns. Pooh ! I guess so long as they are allowed 
their pipes and cards, they won't cry their eyes out. They don't 
want to improve their minds so far as I've observed them. 
Where I boarded last summer they were four deep around a silly 
little chit — they said she was pretty tho' I couldn't detect it — who 
didn't know any more than a hen, and they never availed them- 
selves of a chance to talk to my friend, Amanda Grubb, who knew 
her Sanskrit as she did her multiplication table. 

Miss Poor. Yes, I've observed that same thing myself. ' 

Miss Stearns I can't be thankful enough I haven't got one 
of 'em belonging to me to worry over. I wonder what has hap- 
pened to my watch. I'm twenty minutes behind this clock. 

Miss Pen. This one is always right. I never question it. 

It belonged to a revered maiden aunt, a lovely old lady, and it 

never varies. 

Ziorilla snickers. 

Miss Stearnts. I must send it down town tomorrow by Mary 
Grew. When pa bought it in Geneva, 39 years ago, they told 
him he had the best works the Swiss could produce. Dear pa 
always would have the best. 

Miss Minns {timidly appearing?) I must apologize for being 

so very late. Almost through with soap ! The bell rang before 

I expected it. Such a short morning ! Yes, Lorilla, if thee please 

Takes place between Miss Poor and Miss Stearns. 

Lorilla in her rush overturns glass of water and screams. 

All get up. 



6 

Miss Pen. How careless, Lorilla. What has got into you, 
you seem in such a hurry. I hope it doesn't spot with water, that 
dress has always been one of my favorites, such a pretty shade. 

Lorilla scrubs loitli her apron. 

Miss Minns. Accidents will happen. I'm sure Lorilla almost 
never lets anything drop. 

LoK. She's a lady ! {In her zeal she knocks off a fork and 
spoon. Screams again.) 

Miss Pen. Lorilla, how often must I tell you it is very low 
bred to scream in a dining room. 

Miss Stearns. Where I stayed last summer I had to put on 
my gossamer when I went to my meals. There was a creature 
there waiting on table who spilt evei-ything she touched. You 
remember that silk waist I had made six years ago, just as good 
style as the day I had it. That's the thing about my dressmaker 
— everything up to date and good style, so long as there's a thread 
left. That girl poured soup over me the first time I took it out 
of my trunk. 

Miss Minns. Poor girl, she probably was trying to be so very 
careful. 

Miss Stearns. T don't know what she was trying to do, I 
know what she did. If I could have eaten under an umbrella I 
might have had some peace of mind. 

Miss Pen. Does any one know whether Miss Condor is in 
or out ? 

Lor. Shall I ring the bell again ? . 

Miss Pen. Certainly not. When Miss Condor is ready she 
will come down I presume. 

Ziadies exchange glances. 

Miss Minns. She always enjoys her dinner when it is nice 
and hot. 

Miss Pen. She knows my dinner hour. Lorilla, let me give 
Miss Poor some more soup. 

Miss Poor. I haven't had any. I refused it. I can't eat 
clams as they produce a violent rash, as I've told you many times. 
It is hard to go without any kind of soup as it makes the dinner 
so short. 



Lorilla hegitis to remove plates and tureen just as 3fiss 
Condor^ tall and severe, enters. 

Miss Pen. Shall I detain the soup for you, Miss Condor ? 
I'm afraid it is cold, we have been so long at table. 

Miss Condor. I was not informed that dinner was to be any 
earlier to-day. (^She walks to thermometer.) Oh, the thermome- 
ter has been removed. It is just as well, for it wouldn't register 
a bit above 59. {Stops to poh' fire.) Yes, thank you {seating 
herself next Miss Pen.) I always take two helps of soup, as with 
my troubles a heavier diet is to be avoided. 

Miss Pen. Dinner was at the usual hour. 

Miss Condor {puts doicn spoon and draws loatch.) By my 
time, which is correct, it is barely twenty-five minutes past now. 
Lorilla, the celery please — the other side. 

Miss Minns. Perhaps thee forgot to wind thy watch. 

Miss Condor. That would not account for the difference. 
Besides I never forget my watch. 

Miss Minns. Of course not. But I am so apt to try and wind 
mine twice one night and forget it entirely the next. 

Miss Condor. Mine is too valuable a timepiece to treat in that 
way. My father early instructed me in the proper care of a watch 
and I never let it get too hot or too cold, never lay it down, 
never wind it but at the hour of retiring, never run with it on the 
person, never — {Miss Stearns smiles derisively. 3/iss (Jondor 
(/laiices at the fire reprovingly.) Really, Miss Penhallow, I 
must beg to be excused and go in search of a shawl. T find this 
room too chilly to eat in, in safety. {She departs.) 

LoR. Shall I shift the plates ? 

Miss Pen. By no means. We must wait for Miss Condor 
to return. I hope you ladies are in no hurry to get done. 

Lor. {aside.) Well, I be, for one. 

Miss Minns. Oh, certainly not. 

Miss Poor. Not being able to eat soup I feel rather far gone, 
but I guess I can hold out. May Lorilla get me some older bread, 
I am having a hard day with dyspepsia to-day. 

Miss Pen. Certainly; Lorilla, some older bread. 

Miss Stearns. I do hope when Anna Condor has her next 



dress made, some friend will be kind enough to tell her that she 
looks like a fright, when she has them trimmed up so much. 

Miss Minns. Well, I should hesitate to be the one. 

Miss Poor. She's always picking my clothes to pieces, espe- 
cially my tea gown, which I think is the most becoming thing 1 can 
get into. 

Miss Condor (hwidled in shawl returns.) My father always 
said it was dangerous to eat in a cold room, and I have never for- 
gotten it. I do hope, Miss Penhallow, that you'll make an effort 
to secure some coal somewhere, to-day. I saw you hadn't more 
than a cupful in your bin. 

Lor. You can't fool her by talk of repairs to the furnace. 

Miss Pen. I think I can attend to that detail of housekeep- 
ing ; thank you. Miss Condor, all the same for your interest. 

Miss Condor. Lorilla, the celery please — the other side. 

Miss Penhallow makes sign to remove celery. 

Miss Condor. I will trouble you for a second plate of soup. 
(^Lorilla looks furious.) Do not, however, let nie delay the others. 
I was brought up under my father's roof to eat slowly, and I can- 
not hurry as some. If I had been told" that dinner was to be 
earlier I could have been properly dressed and here on time. Of 
course I could not present myself until I had made such a care- 
ful toilet as my father always inculcated. 

Miss Poor (Jiaving eaten nothing, sighs.) Can you get me 
another bit of old bread, I feel very faint. 

Lorilla jjasses bread and proceeds to remove tureen . 

Miss Condor. The soup is so much better than usual I will 
take another help before it departs. I doubt if I shall care for 
what follows. 

Miss Lor. I don't! She always talks like that and eats 
everything. 

Miss Stearns (aside.) Her old father showed he had some 
sense when he named her Anna Condor. 

Lorilla overturns medicine bottle. 

Miss Poor. Take care, j^ou've knocked over my bottle of 
tonic ! (All Jump up.) 



9 

Miss Pen. How careless. There is no huny, I keep telling 
you. You are in such a rush that you don't half look. 

Lor. Well, I guess ! I told Nell quarter to, but at this rate 
Condor won't quit before night. (^/i..e begins to dear table.) 

Miss Condor (rising.) In my • judgment, medicine bottles 
have no place on a lady's table. Under my father's roof it was 
the rule that no drugs ever appeared at meals. We none of us 
had digestions and we all had our remedies, but always in 
private — usually in the china closet, which was ample and well 
suited to the purpose. 

Miss Poor (af/(/rieved, also rising.) It says at meals. I 
suppose if it offends anyone I could go againsf my doctor's order 
and suffer the consequences. No, Lorilla, not here; place it on 
the side table as it disturbs Miss Condor to see it. I will take it 
to my room if I can ever secure a crumb of dinner. (A'Ae wipes 
her eyes.) 

Miss Minns. Oh, my dear Mary Poor, don't go against thy 
doctor's commands. It is so dangerous to take the least liberty 
with drugs. Of course if we had a formal dinner party, with 
gentlemen, thee would not bring thy tonic to the table, but only 
ladies, and such a pretty bottle and such a clear amber- colored 
fluid. 

Miss Stearns. Pooh ! Gentlemen or no gentlemen, if I 
wished to take a remedy at any particular moment I should not 
consult them. I don't beheve in truckling to them in everything. 
If you've been lucky enough to escape being tyrannized over, why 
you should go out of your way to ask one of 'em to lord it over 
you, I can't understand ! 

Miss Minns 1 can't think thee is quite fair always. I have 
boarded with some gentlemen who surely were quite unobjection- 
able and even agreeable. 

Lorilla brings in rnutto)i. 

Miss Poor. When I was younger I was the recipient of 
much attention from gentlemen. 

Miss Stearns. Yes, and now that you've got ten times the 
sense you had then they let you alone. 

Miss Poor. Well, I don't know that they do. They are 
very apt to give me a seat in the cars. 



10 

Miss Stearns. Because they think you're going to faint. 

Miss Poor. Not at all, that's not the reason. I am told 
every day that I am just as good looking now as I ever was. 

Miss Condor {risiny.) 1 maintain that ladies living by them- 
selves ought to be just as particular as though the opposite sex 
were present. A wrapper and curl papers should never appear 
beyond one's own door sill. ( Taps table with lorgnette.) Once 
a lady everywhere and at all times a lady, my father insisted. 

Miss Poor. I suppose when you say wrapper, you mean my 
tea gown. It is quite different my dressmaker tells me. 

Miss Condor. I refer to no garment in particular, and to no 
person in particular. 

Miss Minns. Mary Poor has just the right figure for drapery. 
She always reminds me of something classic. Something off a 
Grecian frieze. 

Miss Stearns {irrelevantly.) I happened to see some such 
nice grapes in the market to-day. The grape season is so short. 

Miss Pen. {sharply.) They seemed far gone to me. Fruit 
unless perfection never tempts me. May I give you a piece of 
mutton. Miss Poor? 

Miss Poor {sadly.) Mutton ? A small scrap. I never have 
liked mutton. There is a disagreeable — 

Miss Condor. Continue the subject no further, if you please 
Miss Poor, as I am especially partial to boiled mutton and caper 
sauce. A good deal of the sauce, please, when yoii help me. 

Lor. There ain't none. 

Miss Pen. {rises and draws J^orilla doicn to front.) Has the 
cook given us no caper sauce ? 

Lor. She said as you said it wa'n't any matter, as we was out 
of 'em. 

Miss Pen. I didn't so understand. Ladies, I am very sorry 
for this misunderstanding. {Besurnes seat.) 

Miss Condor. No, thank you, no mutton for me. But I will 
have a piece more celery. I can be a good vegetarian, if neces- 
sity compels me. 

Miss Poor. I'm afraid to touch it now ; they say it occasions 
typhoid. 

Miss Condor. My father thought it very wholesome. 



11 

Miss Pen. Pass the celery. 

Lor. You told me not to. 

Miss Pen. Lorilla, do as I order you. 

Miss Minns. As I never take capers I arii not in the least 
incommoded. Just as it comes, please ; rare or well done, makes 
no difference. 

LoR. She's the peaceable one. I'd like a whole boardin'- 
house just like her. Goodness, how slow they eat! I'll never 
get down there at quarter to ! 

Miss Condor. May I ask for a bit of that cold veal we had 
yesterday. When the whole house is so chilly I think one 
requires a certain amount of animal food. 

Miss Pen. Ask cook to send in- some cold veal to Miss 
Condor. 

Lor. It's all hashed up for chicken salad. {Bef/ins to dear 
table.) 

Miss Pen. (rising.) Oh, there is surely some mistake ! I 
never meant — Ladies, you all know what ray salads are in this 
house. I must tell the cook — (Lorilla. disappears into kitchen.) 
The truth is, she came from rather a low-toned boarding-house 
and her ideas and mine naturally clash. 

Lor. (at the kitchen, door.) Well, I never ! She done the 
chopping-up her own self. 

Miss Condor. I maintain you can't be too careful what goes 
into a salad. Since leaving my father's roof T make a practice 
never to touch one ! 

LoR. Oh, that old roof ! I'm sick of the mention of it. 

Miss Pen. Now, Lorilla, the dessert. 

Lorilla brings in t'(oo pies. 

Miss Pen. The crumbs, Lorilla. You've neglected to re- 
move the crumbs. 

LoR. I don't see none. 

Miss Pen. Never mind, it's the idea of the thing. Go 
through the polite little ceremony. 

LoR. Whenever'll I git out ? 

Miss Condor. There are some. There, you've overlooked 
that crust by Miss Poor's plate. 



12 

Miss Poor {rising.) If you have no objections, Miss Condor, 
I wished to carry that crust to my own room., to take after my 
tonic. 

Miss Condor. There are some on your left. 

LoR. How long since she's been my boss V 

Miss Pen. Squash or apple. Miss Condor? 

Miss Condor. A good-sized piece of both., if you please. I 
must make up on my dessert to-day. 

Miss Pen. Miss Stearns ? 

Miss Stearns. Well, as there isn't any pudding to-day, I'm 
obliged to eat pie, I suppose. 

Miss Pen. Apple or squash ? 

Miss Stearns {sadly.) . Apple. 

Miss Pen. Miss Poor '? 

Miss Poor. The crust looks tough. None for me ; my 
doctor forbids all pastry unless the lightest possible. 

Miss Pen. Miss Minns '? 

Miss Minns. Thank you, the apple looks so very good, I 
will have a small piece. 

Miss Stearns. It isn't half cooked. {Pushes hers away.) 

Miss Pen. Now the coffee, Lorilla. 

Lor. Will the cormorants ever git done ! The more I hurry 
'em the slower they eat ! 

Miss Stearns takes nuts from table and puts in chate- 
laine bag. 

Miss Condor. Yery strong for me. No sugar. When black 
coffee is as it should be, it requires no sugar. {Tastes hers.) 
Pass me the sugar, Lorilla. It is seldom I taste such coffee as T 
drank under my father's roof. 

Miss Pen. Cream, Miss Poor ? 

Miss Poor. Is it cream ? 

LoR. It's in the cream pitcher, but it's skim-milk, all right. 

Miss Pen. puts on glasses and looks into pitcher. 

Miss Pen. I buy the richest cream I can' procure, but it does 
not always look as I should like to have it. 

Miss Stearns. How nice a few grapes would be to end off 
with ! 



13 

Miss Condor. Hardly safe, after the milk in the clam soup. 
Fruit in the morning was my father's rule, and I have always 
adhered to it. Is there no cheese this noon ? 

Miss Pen. Lorilla, can you get — Lorilla — where is Lorilla ? 
{She rings table bell.) 

Cook (appears). Phat's you wantin', ma'am ? 

Miss Pen. Lorilla. Send her to me. We have not yet 
finished dining. 

Cook. Well, ma'am, she had a toothache strike hei- sudden 
like awful bad {she winks at audience), and she left word as she 
had to git to her dentist to have it drawed, and says as Pd do the 
waitin' and tendin'. 

Miss Minns. Poor Lorilla, she does have so much trouble 
with her teeth ! 

Miss Stearns. Didn't she have a whole set, uppers and 
unders, last spring? (iShe goes to fire.) 

Cook. Can I's serve you, ma'am? What's this you're want- 
ing? Have some more pie? Now do, ma'am. 

Miss Pen. No, Mary Ellen, you are not suitably dressed f6r 
the dining-room. We will dispense with further service? 

Cook. I'm sure I was willing and doing my best. {She leases, 
muttering.) 

Miss Condor. Since there seems to be no cheese, I think I 
will ask to be excused, it is so very chilly here. The fire is out, 
though it didn't give any heat before it went out. Supper is at 
the usual hour, I presume. Remember that your clock is twenty 
minutes too fast, Miss Penhallow. {She retires^ 

Miss Pen. Thank you. Miss Condor, I shall not alter my 
clock to suit your time. 

Miss Stearns. My watch, a very fine one, is like Miss Con- 
dor's. Don't you think that possibly — 

Miss Pen. No, I am sure mine is right. I do hate to see a 
woman allow herself to be so set as Miss Condor always is. 

Miss Minns. How we do miss Mary Grew the days that she 
doesn't come home ! She is so much younger, and she brings in 
so much to talk about, that it keeps us from any little disagree- 
ments that might arise. I suppose living by ourselves, as we do, 
there is danger that we may grow a little intolerant — 



14 

Miss Poor. Speak for yourself, I'm sure I sha'n't. I'm always 
tighting against it. I mean to keep up my interest in everything 
and to go everywhere I'm asked. I'm having a nice pretty dress 
made, cut away at the throat — 

Miss Stearns. ' Heavens, how you'll look in it ! 
Miss Poor. Oh, ever so little ! 

Miss Minns. I really do think there is danger of our speaking 
too frankly. I am afraid that someone's feelings may be hurt if 
we permit ourselves quite such frank expression. 
Miss Stearns. Mine won't. 

Miss Pen. Excuse me, ladies, but listen one moment. I think 
the telephone rang. (She goes to the telephone. Ladies follow-, 
and listen intently). Yes, yes, yes, I have one good-sized — sun- 
ny. Yes, handsome cabinet bed — looks like a superb mirror. 
No, no one has ever been shut up in it. You don't like that kind ? 
Yes, mostly ladies. 

Miss Poor. A gentleman boarder ! 

Miss Pen. Hold the line, please. Ladies (they dart back)i 
I don't like to ask you to vacate the dining-room, but I have a 
very important bit of business to transact. ( The ladies retire hi 
some dudgeon. Miss Penhallow resumes her talk.) What did 
you say your name was ? With a P ? Oh, yes, a good furnace 5 
rarely below seventy. ( To herself.) Now I must ask him about 
liis habits, though I daresay he will resent it and not come at all. 
As I said, ray family, being mostly ladies, are very refined and 
quiet, and tobacco would be — - Oh, you don't smoke ! Well, I was 
about to say there was a nice yard — Oh, so much the better ! 
Now about a latch-key, if you made a habit of coming in as late as 
ten, perhaps you would be willing, out of consideration to the ladies, 
to draw off your boots when ascending the two flights to your bed- 
room. Yes, certainly, at once, Mr. Sampson, (She sinks into 
chair.) Well, with coal up and beef and turkeys — {At that in- 
stant a wild commotion is heard outside. Cries of fire. Ladies 
laden with garments., etc., flock into room. Miss Poor, with bird- 
cage.) 

Miss Minns. The chimney is roaring awfully ! 
Miss Stearns. She's done it now. Anna Condor's set the 
house afire. 



15 

Miss Poor. We must i\y to the next house. Oh, who'll drag 
my trunk from the attic '? All my best — 

Miss Minns. Someone make her come down ! She'll be 
burned alive ! 

Miss Pen. Hush! Be calm, ladies. (She looks out back vnn- 
dow. All follow her.) Don't move anything more till we know. 
I'll summon the firemen. {She steps to telephone.) Give me 10-2. 
Come at once, 3 Libby Road, ray chimney's afire. (Starts round 
table. All follou\) I knew she'd do it the way she overloads that 
stove, and I've warned her repeatedly. (She runs upstairs.) 

Cook (rushing m from kitchen., overturning chair. Jumps 
up on a chair.) Oh, see the smoke'rising to the top of the trees, 
and folks all watching our chimbley ! Oh, I never, never ! And 
all my things and all Lorilla's going to get burned up in the attic ! 
Oh, hurry yous, hurry yous ! 

Curtain falls. 



SCENE II. 

Evening of the same day. A parlor. Enter Miss Pen,., dressed 
to go out. 

Miss Pen. Those firemen were a fine set of men. Saved my 
house and didn't use a drop of water. Put salt down the chim- 
ney. I hope it scared Miss Condor, and she'll be more prudent 
with my fuel. There's no need of such a blaze of gas. ( Turns 
out two burners.) Well, I feel quite relieved — the third-story 
back room engaged, the gentleman coming Monday, and the other 
vacant room filled to-day. I don't like to go out to-night, they are 
so stirred up over that boy, but, being Saturday night, I can get 
such bargains in fruit ! They mark it way down, as it won't keep 
till Monday. I wish his mother hadn't left him the first evening. 
I dare say the boy means well, but when he upset his cocoa, and 
slid his butter into Miss Stearns' lap, and made faces when Miss 
Condor corrected his grammar, I thought I should fly out of my 
skin. I dare say I sha'n't be able to keep them if he keeps on, 
but I hate to have that room on my hands. She didn't mind the 



16 

spot on the ceiling Or tlie worn place on the carpet. Well, I'll 
hurry alo)ig and get back as soon as possible, {She dejKirtti.) 

Enter Claude., who goes to /j/a?io and begins to drum. Enter 
Misses Condor., Poor, Stearns and Minns. 

Miss Minns. No one would ever think we had barely esca2)ed 
being burned alive. 

Miss Stearns. I hope it has been a warning. 

Miss Condor. Her chiranej^ needs attention. Little boy, stop 
that drumming ! {She examines card table to see if it is dusty.) 
N.o, it hasn't been touched. 

Miss Minns. I think thee is mistaken. But much dust has 
come in from outside today. {SJie reads from newspaper.) I see 
that someone has picked strawberry blossoms in his garden. 
Think of that in October ! 

, Miss Condor. You are straining your eyes. My father always 
said a half light was very trying. Will someone give us more 
illumination '? We need the warmth, too. It is not 68, as it 
should be, in this apartment. Little boy, isn't it your bedtime? 

Claude. No. 

Miss Condor. No what? 

Claude. No, it ain't. 

Miss Condor. When I was a little b — girl I was taught to 
say no, marm. 

Miss Minns. Come here, Claude, and I will show thee some 
pretty pictures. 

Claude. I hate pictures. 

Miss Stearns. Didn't your mother say you were to go to bed 
as soon as you'd got through supper ? 

Miss Condor. Where is his mother. 

Claude. She's gone to a box supper. 

Miss Condor, A what? 

Miss Poor. Mrs. Gaylor explained that all the club ladies car- 
ried food in boxes and they sat about and ate it. 

Miss Condor. Who is in charge of this boy ? I am like my 
father, and must have perfect quiet for my game of whist. 

Claude. Nobody's in charge of me. 

.Miss Minns. His mother has told me what a self-reliant child 



17 

he is. She leaves hiiii purposely much alone to strengthen his in- 
dependence. 

Miss Condor {marcJihig up and dov.m.) I should judge he 
needed no encouragement in that direction. 

Miss Minns. Will thee, take a book and read till thy mother 
returns. 

Claude. I hate reading. 

Miss Stearns. Take a chair, then, and sit on all four legs. I 
hate to see you tilted up in that fashion. {Claude departs noisily. 
All give a sigh of relief .) 

Miss Minns {reading from her nevispapjer^ "Mrs. Ahbie 
Turner had a night-blooming cereus 'blossom Tuesday evening." 
How T should like to have seen it! 

Miss Condor. No newspaper of standing would give pub-, 
licity to such a trivial fact. My "Clarion" never records such 
things. Can we have our game? {She produces cards.) 

Miss Stearns. Boys ought to be banished to an outside 
island. 

Miss Poor. I'm afraid you would keep them there after they 
had gray heads. 

Miss Stearns. They wouldn't have to leave for my sake ! 

Miss Minns. A nice, quiet little boy would be quite an addi- 
tion to this elderly circle. 
, Miss Stearns. That kind die in infancy. 

Miss Condor. This one has no more manners than a Hot- 
tentot. But what can you expect with such a mother ? Miss 
Penhallow never should have taken her in ; she belongs to quite 
another social stratum. If she's a widow, why isn't she in 
mourning ? 

Miss Stearns. If there's to be game, let's get about it. I 
want to be through by the time my "Transcript" comes. I'll call 
Mary Grew — she wanted to finish a letter. {Sh,e yyithdrauis.) 

Miss Condor. I wish I felt some assurance that that boy had 
departed for the evening. 

Miss Poor. Miss Penhallow must tell her that the ladies 
object to her leaving him alone, as it annoys — 

Miss Minns. She surely will not make a practice of doing it, 
but this evening was a j^articularly important meeting. There 
was to be a five-minute discussion on Art, which she was to lead. 



18 



Miss Condok. Art! She'd better be putting that boy to 
bed. The table is ready; let us begin. 

Enter Miss Stearns and Miss Greio. 

Miss Poor. No, after what Miss Condor said last evening, I 
cannot be her partner again. 

Miss Minns. Oh, I'm sure Anna Condor intended no unkind 
criticism. My paper says that we are to have a hard winter. The 
woodchucks' hair is — 

Miss Condor. You asked me if the play of that spade was 
the right one, and I told you you couldn't have played a worse 
card. I never equivocate, and, at my age, I do not think I will 
depart from truth telling. Miss Grew will play with me, if she 
isn't afraid of endangering her life ! 

Miss Grew. Miss Poor and Miss Stearns. 

All take places at card table. 

Miss Poor. Has anyone seen my cushion ? There is a place 
in this chair that sticks right into my spine. 

Miss Minns. Here it is. Let me beat it up a little. 

Miss Stearns. Well, I'm glad my backbone isn't like 
yours ; should hate to be tied to a cushion as you are. 

Miss Grew. You understand, Miss Condor, that I do not 
know all the rules as you do. 

Miss Condor. You're a bright young woman, why don't you 
learn them '? Now cut for deal. Yours, Miss Grew. 

Miss Poor {suddenly remembering.) Did anyone see me take 
my tonic. 

Miss Minns. Thee took something from a bottle. 

Miss Poor. Dark colored ? That was before eating. Did I 
take — 

Miss Condor. Are you playing whist or not ? 

Miss Poor. Well, I only w^anted to carry out my doctor's 
orders. I daresay some at this table don't think it's any import- 
ance whether I live or die. They act so, anyway. 

Miss Stearns. You'd live longer if you threw all your 
bottles out of the window. 

Miss Condor. The whole table is waiting for you, Miss 
Poor. 



19 

Miss Poor. I'm considering. 

Miss Condor. Your original lead ought not to be a matter of 
the least uncertainty. 

Miss Poor. Jf you find so much fault I can't remember any- 
thing. 

Miss Stearns. Try to take tricks ; that's my way of playing 
whist. 

Miss Condor. Yes, and a most confusing person at the whist 
table. Your card never conveys any intimation of what you hold 
in your hand. Miss Grew, I can't fathom why you played that 
suit. You have ruined my whole scheme. 

Miss Grew. I did not play it with that intention, Miss Condon 
When the game is over I will explain. 

Miss Condor. You cannot justify that play. Miss Poor, we 
are waiting for you. 

Miss Poor. Did I take it '? 

Miss Condor. You trumped with the ace. That generally 
takes a trick. 

Miss Poor. Did I trump it ? But I had a club ! 

Miss Condor. I thought so. That is a revoke. We claim 
the penalty. Three tricks for that. 

Miss Stearns. If you wouldn't pick so much on my partner, 
she'd play better. 

Miss Poor. Thank you. Miss Stearns. Yes, Miss Condor 
scares me so I don't know what I'm doing. 

Miss Condor. That five was perfectly good, Miss Grew ; you 
should not have trumped it. Now we've lost the odd. 

Miss Grew. I couldn't remember. 

Miss Condor. You should concentrate your mind on the 
game. It's my plain duty to point out to you that you quite 
spoiled my spade suit by not returning the two, instead of the 
five. You confused me as to the number you originally held. 

Miss Stearns. Oh, what hair splitting ! Is it my deal ? 

Miss Condor. Assuredly, if the pack is on your left. There 
ought never to be the least uncertainty. Pardon me, but that is 
a misdeal. It is my partner's deal. 

All Ladies. Oh, let her deal again. We are only playing 
for amusement. 



20 

Miss Coxdor. Amusement I I don't know what you mean. 
I regard this game as educational. T am Hke my revered father, 
who had no patience with frivi^lity at the whist table. Tt i< your 
lead, Miss Poor. 

Miss Poor. I dont know what to do. 

Miss Coxdor. Miss Steams, yon have no right to replace 
that exposed card in your hand. 

Miss Stzaexs. Oh, botheration I I should hate to l>e so 
disagreeable. 

Miss Co>"T)Oe. Abuse is out of place. I merely observe the 
mles of the game. If yon prefer slap-jack or — 

Miss Mine's. Really, friends, thee sound almost alarming. 
In thy interest, thee does not perhaps realize how nearly angry 
thee sound. I read that flocks of wild ducks have been seen fly- 
ing— 

]Miss CoxDOE. I have no interest in such bucolic details. 

Miss Grew. I just love that newspaper, and the extracts she 
rea<Is every evening. 

Miss CoxDOR. "She confuses my brain. That is n»y trick I 

Miss Steabxs. Xo, it isn't ; I trumped. 

Miss Condor. Spades are trumps. 

Ai.1.. No, hearts. 

Miss CoxDOR. Spades are where I invariably keep my 
trumps. I never make a mistake, like my father — 

Miss Steaexs. Three against you. You've got to give in 
this time, though I know you hate awfully to. 

Miss Coxdoe. Perhaps you wiU explain how spades got into 
the place where I always put my trumps. 

Miss Poor. You made a mistake. 

Miss Grew. You forgot to arrange them. 

Miss Coxdoe. Never I I'U resign the trick and permit you to 
take it, though I am far from convincetl Whatever faults I may 
possess, failing to notice the tum-up card is not one of them. 

Miss Poor. ( With a. sigh of relief.) Did I play my diamonds 
right. Miss Steams ? 

Miss Steaexs. Oh, yes, well enough I 

Miss Coxi>or. Well enough ! An idiot couldn't have man- 
aged tliem worse. 



21 

Miss Poob. (Jumping t/p.) I can't stay and be talked to as 
thoagh I had no feelings. I've been unusually miserable this 
evening:. I suppose it was the house getting afire and the one 
salted almond I allowed myself to eat this noon. IVe been mak- 
ing a martyr of myself just to please her, and now — 

Miss Steaexs. Oh, never mind her I Just finish the rubber. 

Miss Gkzw. Miss Condor ought to remember that her game 
depends on Miss Poor. We are only three wiAout her. 

Miss Poor. I'm sorry to be disobliging, but IVe got to with- 
draw and take some remedies. I can't hold up my head another 
minute. If I stay I'm afraid I shall answer her back. 

Miss Grew. I wish Miss Condor took whist in a light tr 
mood. 

Jfiss Poor >riihdrairs, after saying good night sadly . 
Jliss Minns foJloxcs vrith cushion. 

Claude (enters.) Say, have a game of slap jack. 

Miss Co>t)OB. Xine o'clock and yotfr mother has not re- 
turned I 

Claude. Course not, nine o'clock's early. 

Miss Stear.vs. Where have you spent your evening ! 

Claude. Witli Lorilla and cook. Their beaux are out there 
and we've been having sport. 

Miss CoxDOR. A kitchen is no place for a hox. What culti- 
vation can you acquire if you frequent such society. It is very 
vulgar for children to be out of their beds after eight- You'll 
grow up into a good-for-nothing member of the community, if 
you continue to keep such hours. 

Claude. Well, my mother lets me. 

Miss Steabxs. Yes, we see she does. 

Claude. I'm glad you don't have the say of me. 

Miss SxEARXs. I wish I had, just long enough to pack you 
off to bed. Shall we put up the cards ? 

Mrs. Gatlor {goung and stglish, enters.) Oh, here I am 
Claudie 1 Are you glad to see mummer back ? Such an elegant 
big meeting as we've had I It's aU going to be in the newspapers 
what the gowns were. The speaker from Maiden was just too 
cute in what she said. She came .iown to get our club to feder- 
ate—to join the federation. She said we'd gain everything if we 



22 

did. Well, her dress was the sweetest thing yet — a stunning cre- 
ation, chiffon, all over lace medallions. I'm going to try to get 
mj^ hair to go as she did hers, but I guess I'll have to buy some 
more. But it was awfully fetching. {She sinks into rocking- 
diair.) There, I hope nobody'll be shocked if I di*aw off my 
shoe. It's been just about murdering me all the evening. 

Miss Condor {gazes through lorgnette disapprovingly.) As 
our game has been interrupted, perhaps we had — 

Cla-ude. They had a scrap ! The sick lady with the bottle 
went off crying. 

Mrs. Gaylor. Claude Eugene Gaylor, you mustn't talk so! 
Stop right where you are ! Can I take a hand and help out ? 

Miss Condor {sternly.) Do you play whist? 

Mrs. Gaylor. I don't play the signaUing game and all that, 
but a gentleman where I boarded last winter, who played mag- 
nificent whist — knew every card you had, and more, too — remarked 
that I'd make an elegant player if I'd only take time to learn. 
Well, I suppose it's true, for I've been told the same repeatedly. 
Oh, I'm scared blue if I'm going to play with you, Miss Stearns ! 
Claudie, step off'n my chair; you make me awfully nervous. Miss 
Penhallow's been telling me she was expecting a gentleman 
boarder Monday. Well, I think that's what this house needs. 
The table's always better where there's gentlemen. 

Miss Stearns. That may be, but they always help them- 
selves to the best and the women take what's left. I've sat at 
table with 'em ! 

Miss Grew. Miss Stearns always speaks of men as though 
they were an extinct species, whose habits were unknown to pres- 
ent survivors. 

Miss Stearns. I wish some of 'em I knew were extinct! 

Mrs. Gaylor. Miss Penhallow says the one coming Mon- 
day is named Sampson. Now I'm well acquainted with two of 
that name, and if it's Charlie, he's a case and no mistake. Such a 
trainer ! Why he— 

Miss Condor. It is your deal, Mrs. Gaylor. 

Mrs. Gaylor. Oh, my, is it my deal ! 

Miss Condor. An unnecessary question. The cards are on 
your left. 



23 

Mrs. Gaylor. Oh, how swell to have two packs ! (She starts 
to deal several cards at a time.) 

Miss Condor. Deal one at a time, if you please. 

Mrs. Gaylor. Oh, only one ! I thought I'd save time. 

Miss Grew. Miss Condor insists on the rigor of the game. 

Mrs. Gaylor. Well, I don't agree. I play for diversion. 
My brainy work all goes into club life. Why, I had to get up on 
Art- 
Miss Stearns (aside.) Get up on art! She talks as 
though it were a ridge-pole ! 

Mrs. Gaylor. I had just one week to get iip on Art. At 
my club they're awful strict about keeping right to the subject. 
If they'd let you, as they do in some ladies' clubs, just ramble on 
and say anything, so long as you keep talking, why it wouldn't 
be such a brain tax. But this club's awful. I've got to get up 
on History next month. I belong to seven clubs and they "just 
keep me lively. I'm real conscientious and thorough, when I 
start to do a thing. Let me see, is there a joker in this game? 
It's been some time since I took a hand at whist. 

Miss Condor. Joker? What does she mean. 

Miss Grew. You must be thinking of euchre. 

Miss Condor. I share my father's aversion to that game. 
Mrs. Gaylor. Well, last summer we used to have such fun 
at the beach. The mosquitos were awful, and we couldn't sit out 
a minute. But we used to go to the casino, and such laughing 
and hollering over euchre ! There were seven or eight ladies and 
as many gentlemen made up the party. I think it's so agreeable 
to have gentlemen round, don't you ? 

Miss Stearns. No, I don't. It is your turn to play, Mrs. 

Gaylor. 

Miss Condor You say you do not know the modern game. 
The first rule of the old game is silence, Mrs. Gaylor. 

Mrs. Gaylor. Mercy, is that meant for me ! Well, I can be 
as mum as the next one. I only spoke while that lady was de- 
ciding what to play. But I do hate a stiff game of cards. There, 
this collar's so tight, I must get a breath somehow ! 

Miss Stearns. Oh, good, that's mine ! 

Miss Condor. If my partner had played right it would not 
have been. 



24 

Miss Grew. What did I do ? 

Miss CoNDOK. You should have linessed your ten. 

Mrs. Gatloe. What's she driving at anyway ? 

Miss Stearns. Does your little boy sit up so late as this ev- 
ery night? 

Mrs. Gaylor. Claude, stop that drumming ! Yes, he's a real 
mummer boy. He hates to go to bed until I do. That's my 
trick, I played the right bower. 

Miss Condor. The right bower ! What does she mean V 

Miss Grew. She's thinking of euchre again. 

Miss Condor. I never played the game. 

Mrs. Gaylor. Oh, excuse me ! Well, you see last summer 
every single evening we played it, and then some lady provided 
a late supper. I never had such a gay time at the beach before. 

Miss Grew. There seems to be something sticky on the 
cards. 

Miss Stearns. It feels like molasses. It's on the table, too. 

Miss Condor. It's that boy ! 

Miss Stearns. It's on his hands. He's been eating ever 
since tea. 

Mrs. Gaylor. Claude Gaylor, you didn't find those corn- 
balls that I hid behind the sofa pillow';:' 

Claltde. I just did. 

Mrs. Gaylor. Well, you're a naught}^ boy. You run right 
along and wash your hands. No, don't you wipe them on your 
pants, but go upstairs this instant. 

Miss Condor {sternly.) Pantaloons. You ought to think 
of your boy's vocabulary. 

Mrs. Gaylor. I suppose I ought to be flattered at your in- 
terest in ray son, but I don't agree with you. A teacher on a big 
salary told me "pants" was more elegant every time. Is it my 
turn V 

Miss Stearns {aside.) Miss Condor teaches us all for noth- 
ing. She never slights her job, either. 

Mrs. Gavlor. As I was telling Miss Penhallow, if it turns 
out to be Charlie Sampson he'll stir things up and no mistake. 
He's the greatest ti-ainer ! At a house party, where he was of the 
number, he blacked up and hid behind Mrs. Handy's door and 
jumped out at her and scared her almost to pieces. 



25 

Miss Condok. Is that person coming to this house? 

Miss Stearks. Well, I guess he won't get behind my door. 

Mes. Gaylor. If it's Charlie, there's no keeping him under. 
He'd walk right in here and take possession as though he owned 
everything. Oh, he's such fun ! 

Miss Condor. He must be. 

Miss Grew. Rather too much animal spirits. 

Mrs. Gaylor. Are you waiting for me ? And yet he has his 
blue times, too. Why, I've seen him not speak for — 

LoR. Your laundry, Mrs. Gaylor. 

Mrs. Gaylor. The idea, this time of night ! Give him sev- 
enty-five. I hid it behind the clothes brush 'on the hall table. ' 

Miss Stearns. Your turn, Mrs. Gaylor. 

Mrs. Gaylor. Oh, I'm scared blue, you all play such a solemn 
game ! I haven't a thing to play. When in doubt, play trumps. 

Miss Condor. A pernicious platitude. My father always 
said that — 

LoR. He says you owe him one fifty ; you didn't pay the last 
time. 

Mrs. Gaylor. It's no such a thing ! I told him I shouldn't 
pay for that bundle. They mixed up Claude's stockings, and got 
a big smooch on my best shirtwaist. I don't propose to put up 
with such carelessness. 

Miss Grew. Certainly laundry is a nuisance, however you 
manage. 

Lor. He says his orders was not to leave this unless you paid 
up everything. 

Mrs, Gaylor. The impudence ! Well, I sba'n't do anything 
of the kind ! 

Claude {whimpering^ I haven't any stockings for Sunday 
School. 

Mrs. Gaylor. Claude Eugene Gaylor ! 

Claude. I haven't. They're all holey where they show. I 
had to wear one black and one brown to-day. 

LoR. You'd best see him, Mrs. Gaylor ; he won't do nothing 
for me. 

Mrs. Gaylor. Can any lady lend me seventy-five ? I have 
only a twenty dollar bill, and he never has any change. 



26 

Miss Geew. I can help you, I think, 

Mrs. Gaylor. Oh, thanks! Give him this and tell him he 
needn't trouble to call again. I shall send to the Jockey from 
now on. Oh, is it my deal ! I've been dissatisfied with them for 
some time. I haven't trusted my lace trimmed handkerchiefs to 
them. They tore them all to pieces, so I just rinse them out 
myself — it's perfectly easy — and dry them on the window pane. 
They look ju^st as though they'd been ironed. 

Claude. Last week you washed my shirt, and your — 
Mrs. Gaylor. Claude Eugene, stop right there ! 
Claude. Well, you did. You said it saved paying for them- 
Mrs. Gaylor. Yoii hateful young one ! Go right off to bed, 
this minute. If you go, good, you can chew that pepsin gum, I 
hid behind the left hand mantel vase, till I come up. 

Claude does not stir. 

Miss Condor. Soiled linen does not seem a suitable topic for 
a drawing room. 

Mrs. Gaylor. I guess I can't lay hands to any talk fine 
enough! to suit some in this room. 

Miss Condor. With so much irrelevant conversation, whist 
cannot be played as it should. I will beg to be excused. (^She 
leaves table.) 

Miss Stearns. We were only playing to please you. 

Mrs. Gaylor. I only took a hand to oblige. I came in with 
a splitting headache. I always get one when I go to my club. 
When I play cards, I like to have people laughing and jolly. 

Miss Condor. Then let me advise you not to play whist. 

Miss Grew. Oh, Miss Condor, she only played to help out. 

Miss Condor. The presence of that boy has — 

Mrs. Gaylor. Well, what are you going to say now ? Isn't 
this the public parlor, and hasn't my little fatherless boy just as 
good a right in it as you ? 

Miss Pen. {enters., feigning cheerfidness.) Well, ladies, I do 
hope you have all beaten, and played finely. {She tries to kiss 
little bog.) I trust this dear little boy has had a pleasant evening* 
and he enjoys my — 

Claude. No, I haven't ! 

Miss Condor. Our game was spoilt. This boy — 



27 

Mrs. Gaylor. Yon told me you had mostly ladies, yon 
didn't tell me you had an old dragon ! I've seen freaks, but I 
never struck one like her before. I'm used to meeting rich, 
stylish ladies, and I sha'n't stay a minute longer than I can help, 
in this Old Women's Home ! I can't I'oam the streets with my 
little boy in my arms at this hour of night, but in the morning I 
shall shake the dust off'n my feet. Come, Claudie, come with 
mummer. {She departs majestically^ 

Miss Petst. I don't deserve such treatment. I didn't like her 
appearance, and I didn't believe that she was a widow, but she 
said she meant to live and die ^ith me. 

Miss Condor. The daughter of my father never could aj^so- 
ciate with vulgarity in any form. Good night. Miss Penhallow, 
and let this be a warning. {She departs.) 

Miss Stearns. She wasn't bad, but that boy ! {She departs.) 

Miss Pen. Yes, a most objectionable child. I knew I ought 
not to have left them the first night. But those bananas were 
just as good as I pay twenty-five for. I felt Miss Condor would 
make trouble as soon as she spied that boy. 

Lor. Cook says as I was to say there ain't no fruit for break- 
fast. 

Miss Pen. (indvpiantly ^ Those bananas that I this in- 
stant — 

Lor. They was so far gone they wouldn't keep, so we eat' em 
in the kitchen to save 'em ! 

Miss Pen. Oh, the worries of a boarding-house ! 

Curtain falls. 



SCENE III. V 

Two days later. The tea table. 

Cook {appearing.) Well, that ever it came to this and we be 
takin' in a gent boarder ! I hope he ain't a wild one or nothin', 
though by the looks of his big trunk I mistrust he's an actor or 
something. They're most always unsteady in a family, drinkin' 
hard and all that, and setting tire to their beds with cigar ash. 



28 

Well, if he doesn't just behave hisself good and respectable, the 
whole lot of ladies will up and quit, and I'll be amongst 'em ! 

Enter Miss Pen. 

Miss Pen. Lorilla — where is Lorilla ? I meant to isntruct her 
about waiting. Everything will be so different, now we have a 
gentleman ; more like a dinner party. She isn't to scramble ev- 
erything oft" and on. We shall have a great deal of intellectual 
conversation and sit a long time at table. She's to sound the 
gong gently at 6.30. Mr. Sampson will be quite famished as he 
had almost nothing at noon. He's going to be easj^ to please, 
Mary Ellen. He's delighted with his room. (^She departs.) 

Lor. {unusually smart in array.) They every soul of 'em 
mean to live and beat old Methusalem if they can ! And now 
they've took the notion that Sebago ain't good enough for 'em, 
unless it's been boiled ! I guess this fresh from the faucet won't 
hurt 'em none to-night. {She drinks from pitcher.) They're all 
so flustered up over the new boarder. I just hope he won't have 
no ailments and can digest everything in sight, fries and under- ^ 
crusts. I guess he can, for T seen him — I mistrust it was him all 
right — when he stopped Miss Penhallow at the front door. He's 
named Sampson, and my, he looked it ! For all the world like 
one of the actors to Peaks, so big and frownin' looking. Mary 
Ellen caught sight of some boxing gloves along of his trunk, and 
I guess he's tough and all that. But anything for a change. I'm 
fatigueed with these old maids and their worreting ways. {She 
strikes gong.) 

The ladies arrive all together. All unusually arrayed, 

excepting Miss Grew., in plain tailor gown. Miss 

Stearns with newspaper. 

LoR. {behind her hand.) Well, now, ain't they on time to 
their grub ! As prompt as ducks to a dough pan . And my, ain't 
they rigged out ! 

Miss Pen. {entering last.) I know we are all going to find 
him a delightful addition. {To herself.) I hope he understood 
what I really meant -when I said we were mostly ladies. 

Miss Grew. I wonder if he will prove to be the Charlie Mrs- 
Gaylor found so amusing. 



29 

Miss Pen. Don't mention that unprincipled woman. 

Miss Condor. Well, where is he '? Doesn't he know that it 
is good manners to come promptly to meals. 

Miss Poor. Especially when we are mostly ladies. 

Miss Stearns. All ladies! I'm disposed to appreciate my 
comfort while it lasts. I happened to be fixing my blind when 
they brought his trunk. I never saw such an ark ! No man has 
any right to own such a back-breaking trunk. 

Miss Minns. I dare say he's a reader and has all his library 
in it. 

Miss Stearns. Pooh, they don't read nowadays ! 

Miss Pen. I have conversed with Mr. Sampson and I feel 
sure we shall all enjoy him. He seems pleased with everything 
so far, and I'm sure he means to stay just as long as my boarders 
always do. That adventuress and her little boy are the only peo- 
ple who ever failed to appreciate this refined home. 

Miss Poor. If he is a fluent talker he will add to our pleasure 
very much. He perhaps knows something about Panama. 

Miss Minns. He will gain a great deal from being here. Six 
refined ladies at one table you do not often meet. 

Miss Poor. I hope he'll like to stay in and join our games in 
the CA'^ening. 

Miss Condor. Do not include him at whist until you see 
whether he knows the game from euchre. 

Lor. It'll be Old Maid and no mistake ! 

Miss Stearns {buried in her neio^paper.) You'd better not 
make up to him too much at first. 

Miss Condor. By all means. We ought to be very circum- 
spect. Under my father's roof we were warned against too hasty 
entanglements. 

Miss Pen. (itijured.) You may rest assured Mr. Sampson is 
in every way worthy to enter my refined household. 

Miss Grew, He makes very little noise overhead. You 
know his room is just over mine. , 

Miss Condor. Yot(. are in the gravest danger. They always 
make up to the silly young girls. 

Miss Grew. Oh, I don't feel alarmed on that account. I 
think he is the one who will be frightened coming in late, and six 



30 

women to watch bim. Don't you think we ought to wait for 
him? 

Miss Stearns. There, I knew it would be so ! Every one 
crazy to stand on her bead as soon as a man came to the house. 

Miss Condor. I don't imderstand your figurative language, 
Miss Stearns, I see no such undignified exhibition as you allude 
to. 

Miss Pen. Did you sound the gong in the hall, Lorilla? 

Lor. For all she was worth, but she don't reach the third 
floor. Shall I bang on his door ? 

Miss Condor. I presume the man owns a watch. 

Miss Pen. I'll run up myself, as he does not know the lo- 
cation of the dining room. I will announce tea myself. {She 
'withdraws.) 

Miss Stearns. There, she's lost her head completely! I 
suppose she likes climbing up two flights of stairs to tell a man, 
who presumably has common sense and a pair of ears, that we 
are eating supper, as every one else is doing at this time of day. 

Miss Poor. Has any one seen what he looks like? 

Miss Condor. It was after dark when he came in, but Lo- 
rilla says that he is tall and dark — 

LoR. {interpolating.) Awful wicked lookin' eyes ? 

Miss Poor. I don't trust that coloring. 

Miss Condor. My favorite type. My father was dark and 
stood six foot three in his stocking feet. {She rises to her full 
height.) 

Miss Stearns. I don't believe Miss Penhallow knows one 
thing about him. They say he's brought all sorts of sporting 
goods, boxing gloves, and — 

Miss Poor. Will he be having prize fights up in his room ? 

Miss Condor. Not while I reside here ! 

Miss Stearns. Probably tobacco and beer will have to con- 
tent him. 

^ Miss Minns. Oh, ladies, you are too severe ! 

At that instant a trombone., badly plai/ed., reaches the 

dining room — " IVien YouHl Itemember J/e," with 

many false notes. All rise to tJceir feet. 



31 

Lor. That's him all right ! Most likely he's in some band. 
Miss Condor bangs door. All leave table. 

The Ladies. Who is that? What is that? The new 
boarder ? 

Miss Poor. How shall I ever secure my night's rest. 

Miss Condor. No gentleman would blow that thing in a re- 
fined household without asking permission. 

The sound ceases. 

Miss Stearns. Either he goes or I. I knew there'd be no 
more peace if she got one of 'erfl in. 

Miss Grew. I daresay he felt strange in a new place, and 
was comforting himself with a little music. 

Miss Stearns. You call that music ? ' 

Miss Condor. Why doesn't he come to his supper? Lorilla, 
that clock is still fast. 

Miss Poor. A poor way to begin by keeping six ladies wait- 
ing. 

Miss Grew. Well, we aren't waiting exactly when we have 
almost finished tea. {All sit doion.) 

Miss Poor. I don't believe she's coming back. Lorilla, pour 
me a cup of tea, please. No, the cream first — two lumps, one in 
the saucer and a smaller one dropped in. Now a dash of water — 
is it boiling ? Now fill up — Yes, that will do. 

Miss Stearns. I hope she'll throw that braying instrument 
out of the window. 

Miss Grew. Don't you think you ought to lay aside your 
paper ? I think he's coming. 

Miss Stearns. No, I'm sure I don't. 

Steps are heard descending. The ladies all looh con- 
scious., set caps and botes straight. 

Miss Condor. Is my cap on straight ? Quick ! 
Miss Poor. Say, shall I leave it in or take it off? {She 
points to bow in hair.) 

Miss Condor adjusts lorgnette. 
Miss Minns. Very straight. Very becoming. 



32 

Miss Steaens. I'm thankful I know how homely I am. 
Some don't. It saves me a lot of trouble. 

Miss Grew alone looks tranquil. All ladies stand at 
front lohile Miss Pen. introduces the young m(ff)%. 

Miss Pen. This way, this way, Mr. Sampson, As I told you, 
we are mostly ladies — ( The ladies., seeing timid youth enter., 
gasp audibly and stare.) In truth all ladies at present, all ladies, 
though later, gentlemen — 

Lor. {snickers.) We shall have a furnace, gentleman, when 
we torch up our furnace. 

Miss Pen. Oh, I must present you to my family. Mr. Samp- 
son, Miss Condor. 

Miss Condor {glares through lorgnette.) How do you do? 
{Aside to her neighbor.) You told me he was six feet three ! 

Mr. Sampson. Pretty well, thank you, ma'am. 

Miss Pen. Mr. Sampson, Miss Stearns. 

Miss Stearns {stonily.) How do you do, young man ? 

Mr. Sampson. Pleased to meet you. 

Miss Pen. Miss Poor, the lady in — Miss Minns across the 
table, Miss Grew beside you. 

Miss Poor curtseys and shows a desire to monopolize 

Mr. /Sampson. A general '•'■How do you do .^" follows. 

Miss Grew shakes hands cordially, and 

makes room for the young man. 

Miss Stearns, {aside) He can't be the Charlie who blacked 
up and scared anybody. This one couldn't say boo to a mosquito ! 

He sits down much embarrassed, knocks off fork., and., 
trying to recover it., overturns chair. 

Lor. {snickers.) Oh, ain't he scat tho ! 

Miss Grew {picks up both.) I'm afraid you are rather 
cramped for room. I can move a little this way. 

All ladies stare. 

Mr. Sampson. Oh, no'm, don't bother ! I don't need much 
room. I'm not very fleshy. 

Miss Condor. Don't use that word ! {In stage lohisper to 



33 

Lorilla.) What made you say he looked like my father. He 
stood six feet three in his stocking feet. 

Lor. This little feller ain't the big man I seen yesterday. 

Miss Stearns {to neighbor.) You needn't be afraid of his 
running off with any one of you. If you were in cages at a circus 
he couldn't look more scared of you. 

Miss Pen. Lorilla, pass the mutton to Mr. Sampson. He 
must be quite ready for it. 

Mr. Sampson, No'm, I don't wish for any. I'm not much of 
a hand to eat. 

Miss Grew. Oh, you must take some ! You were a little late, 
and the rest of us have had our supper. You ought to be very 
hungry. 

Mr. Sampson. No'm, I don't feel so. I had a big piece of 
pie this noon. 

Miss Condor {fiercely.) Pie ! The worst thing you could 
have eaten ! 

Miss Poor. With your complexion, you ought not to look at 
a pie. I hope you did not eat the lower crust. 

Mr. Sampson {timidly.) Yes'm, I did. 

LoR. {aside.) If they can manage it amongst 'em they'll give 
him dyspepsia before he's left the table. 

Miss Pen. Will you have a cup of tea ? 

Mr. Sampson. Yes'm. 

Miss Pen. With lemon ? 

Mr. Sampson. Yes'm. {He takes it, and in his embarrass- 
ment pours in cream also.) 

Ladies {watching., exclaim.) You've put in cream when you 
had lemon ! 

Lor. {snickers.) Poor little scat feller ! 

Miss Pen. Bring it to me, Lorilla, and I'll give him a fresh 
one. 

Miss Condor. Shall you play on that instrument many times 
during the day? 

Mr. Sampson. No'm, I don't have any time daytimes. I have 
to play late at night. 

Miss Stearns. Late at night! You'll make yourself very 
unpopular, if you persist in that practice. 

LofC. 



34 

Miss Minns. Thee is fond of music, I suppose. 

Mr. Sampson. Kind of. 

Miss CoNDOK. Do you play any games ? 

Mr. Sampson. When I was home, we played tiddlewinks 
some. 

Miss Condor. Tiddlewinks! What does he mean ? 

Miss Poor. Was your home in the country? Did your 
father have a fine large farm, with hens and ducks and cows, and 
a big barn, and — 

Mr. Sampson. No'm, I was born in Jersey City. 

Miss Poor. What is your profession ? 

Mr. Sampson. I'm traveling. 

Miss Condor. For pleasure ? An aimless life ! 

Mr. Sampson. ISTo'm, with a line of goods. 

Miss Poor. What kind of goods ? 

Mr. Sampson {pulls out circular^ and gives to his neighbors.) 
The William Willow whole whalebone wasp- waist — 

Miss Poor (interrupting.) Oh, yes, I've heard of them. 

Ladies drop circulars, and look embarrassed. 

Lor. (aside.) Now they're the scat ones. 

Miss Condor. An effeminate occupation. I should like to 
talk to your father, young man. 

Miss Minns. Has thee been long in Stroudport, friend 
Strong? (Moves cream, pitcher from his reach.) 

Miss Condor. Sampson, not Strong. People do not like to 
be miscalled, and such a good old Scriptural name, too. My fa- 
ther always told me to get the correct name or none. 

Mr. Sampson. Oh, that's no matter ! No'm, not very long. 
(He seizes tea and takes a large swallow. Begins to choke.) 

Miss Poor. What church have you identified yourself with ? 

Miss Stearns. I hope you intend to take some solid reading 
fi'om our Public Library. 

Miss Condor. Slap him on the back, someone. He can't an- 
swer questions when he's choking. 

Lorilla slaps him violently on back. He coughs louder. 

Miss Condor. Give him a piece of bread. My father always — 
Miss Minns. A raw oyster is very good. 



35 

Miss Grew. Mr. Sampson, perhaps you would get over it 
quicker, if you went into the hall. {She makes room for him to 
retire^ and coughing and strangling he retreats. Miss Grew fol- 
ows hhn and returns later. All leave table.) 

Miss Condor. He was eating too fast. My father always 
said — 

Miss Pen, He hasn't eaten one morsel, Miss Condor. 

Miss Condor. I don't wonder at his looks — pie at noon, and 
strong tea for his supper. 

Miss Stearns. It's almost laughable, his being only a boy. 
Who ever told me that he was a great big, dangerous-looking 
character ? 

Miss Pen. I'm sure I gave no such impression. From my 
first interview, I felt confident that Mr. Sampson was a gentleman 
whom I could introduce into my home with the utmost safety. 

Faint coughing still heard. 

Miss Minns. Perhaps we ought some of us to have withdrawn 
and allowed him to eat with fewer watching him. The first meal 
was quite an ordeal, for any one who is so bashful — but I never 
thought of our frightening him. I supposed we ladies were to be 
the timid ones. 

Miss Condor. Of course we should not incommode ourselves 
by leaving the dining room for such a lad as that. It is sad to 
see a youth so ill at ease in the presence of a few refined gentle- 
women. After he's been here a month or two, we will make an- 
other being of him. We must demand all sorts of services from 
him, send him on our errands, return library books — anything 
we can trump up. 

Miss Grew. The kindest thing will be to pay no attention to 
him for a few days. 

Miss Minns. Yes, until he gets used to us. 

Miss Condor. Used to us ! What do you mean ? My father 
always said that feminine society of the highest order was the best 
education that could come to a youth. I shall not neglect my 
duty to him. 

Miss Pen. Lorilla, step into the hall and see if Mr. Sampson 
has not recovered sufiiciently to return. 



36 

Miss Minns. Perhaps we had best withdraw. 

Miss Stearns. I sha'n't, for one. 

LoK, There ain't a living soul in sight, nowheres. 

Miss Pen. Follow him upstairs, knock softly — don't bang — 
and tell him that his tea is waiting for him. 

Lor. Yes'm. If he keeps on like this, we shall git all the ex- 
ercise we require, gitting him down to his meals. {She departs.) 

Miss Condor. I don't see why he should act as though he'd 
never seen six ladies before. 

Miss Pen. I told him at the start we were mostly ladies. 

Miss Stearns. At any rate, this one's an improvement over 
Charlie and his Ethiopian specialties. 

Miss Grew. It is hard to imagine that Charlie in this house ! 

LoR. {breathless.) He's going to bed ! 

All. Going to retire at this hour ! Only seven o'clock ! 

Lor. He said he felt strange and he'd nothing else to do, so 
he guessed he'd go to bed ! 

Miss Pen. I meant to have shown him how to manage that 
patent bed. 

Miss Minns. Perhaps young Strong slept in one at home. 

Miss Condor. Sampson, I keep telling you. It's a most dan- 
gerous contrivance. 

Miss Stearns. Ought to be split up into kindling. I had 07ie 
experience with one of 'em, and I'd rather sleep in a lion's den. 

Miss Grew. It's surely very handsome during the day. 

Miss Poor. They never get properly aired. 

A muffled cry., Help ! Help ! Help ! 
Ladies exhibit much alarm. Cook joins the company. 

All. What's that. Who is it ? 

Miss Pen. He's shut up in the bed. {She runs from the 
room,.) 

Miss Condor. Humanity compels me to go to him. My father 
would urge it. {She departs with dignity.) 

Cook. Oh, he must be kilt by his cries ! 

Miss Poor. I can't! I have to avoid such painful scenes. 

Miss Stearns. Don't be a goose ! Lorilla, you and cook 
come along and we'll get him out, dead or alive. ( They depart.) 



3t 

Miss Minns. Thee is rather young. Thee remain here with 
Mary Poor, {She speaks to. Mary Grew. Hiss Minns follows.) 

Cries begin again. 

Miss Grew. Oh, I hope they can get him out ! 

Miss Poor {rushes to telephone.) Give me the city marshal. 
Send to 3 Libby Road. An accident — a young man. Come at 
once, as we are mostly ladies. Oh, he looked so much like an 
early love of mine ! I hope — I hope he isn't going to be sacri- 
ficed — so young ! 

She falls into Miss Grew's arms as the curtain falls. 



OCT 10 m 



